“Holy shit, Giacomo! This is unbelievable.”
“What the hell do we do with this?”
“Shit if I know.” Rio thumbed through the ink-covered pages. “Listen to this!” She read it aloud:
Within six months, there will be three earthquakes successively escalating in intensity. The first will measure 8 in magnitude; the second 8.5; the third will be beyond comprehension. This last one will affect the economy so severely that the Eagle will borrow with no success. A man who is no stranger will arise from the East with a false economy that many countries will embrace. Major cities throughout the world will be destroyed, and millions will die.
“What does this mean?” she asked.
“The Eagle represents the United States, but other than that, your guess is as good as mine.”
Rio fanned the pages of the journal and chose another paragraph at random:
When the lost brothers hug, peace will reign for a short time. Then the last pontiff will awaken and rise, and a false sense of peace will rest in the hearts of humanity. The prophecy of old will come to fruition, and the earth and its people will shake with fright and dread as an era of dystopia takes hold.
Giacomo took the journal from his sister and flipped through it. “Look at this, Rio. The last couple of pages were torn out!”
“What do you think it means?”
“Not a clue, but I’m sure we’ll find out.”
“You’ve got that right, brother.”
The words “You’re an ass” snapped Giacomo out of his daydream.
“Order, order,” the chair of the committee repeated, sending a harsh glare at Senator Boyle. “Miss DeLaurentis, I do not wish to hold you in contempt. Please, let’s move forward.”
“Are you in contact with the FFB?” Boyle repeated.
“No, I am not. To my question, what’s your point?”
“My point, Miss DeLaurentis, is that we don’t need people like you stirring the pot.”
“Stirring the pot? Are you serious? Let me explain the problem to you, Ms. Boyle. While you moronic a-holes sit—”
“Order, order.” The gavel sounded. “Miss DeLaurentis, may I remind you of where you are?”
“I know damn well where I am. I’m sitting in front of a pack of baboons whose only interest is their own agenda, not the American people. If I were you, I’d resign before it’s too late. Yes, I want a revolution, but my revolution will abide by the Constitution. We’ll vote you jackasses out of office.”
Everyone in the crowded room rose in applause. The gavel continued to bang as the chair of the committee struggled to restore order.
“I’m tired of you losers,” Rio said as she stood and marched down the aisle, cameras flashing and whizzing.
Giacomo shook his head.
His sister noticed the fury in his eyes and whispered, “Big brother is not happy. Oh well, it is what it is.”
Two Capitol police officers guarded the doorway. Her glaring eyes said it all: Out of my way. One cop leaned toward her as she passed by. “Nice job, Miss DeLaurentis.”
Chapter 2
Two Weeks Later
“Hello.”
“Good morning, principessa.”
“Sergio, how are you?” The familiar voice of her father’s old friend, the former prime minister of Italy, made Rio smile. When he spoke in Italian, the words flowed with the harmony of musical notes.
“Bene, bene—good, good. Your brother told me you’re traveling to Ottati next week.”
“Yes. I can’t wait, landing in Salerno. Should be cooler in the mountains. August is a good month—no tourists. Besides, I need to leave the States for a while.”
“I understand. I saw the news reports.”
Rio ignored the comment. “How are you?”
“Quite well. I received a letter today from your father.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, a sealed envelope to be opened when you arrive.”
“Damn! Another one of his secrets,” she mumbled.
“I’m sorry, Rio, what did you say?”
“Dad had a habit of leaving us hidden notes to find after he died.”
“Me as well.”
“Really?”
“Your father was a gift to those who listened to him.”
“Yes, he was. Still more to happen, I’m afraid.”
“You should forget your American Party and move here.”
“I wish. My father always said to live a simple life—but I’m in too deep.” Rio changed the subject. “Why didn’t you call Giacomo?”
“I haven’t spoken with you in a while—thought I’d try you first.”
“You’re so kind, Sergio.”
“What day will you be arriving in Salerno? I’ll meet the airplane.”
“Tuesday. Sergio, I’ll tell Giacomo, if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all, principessa. Ciao.”
“Ciao.”
Rio hung up the phone. Through the window of her study, she watched two deer as they drank from the lake. She enjoyed the views of the twenty-two-acre Brewster Estate. The history of the property dated back to the mid-1800s when local industrialist James Brewster acquired the land. At that time, there were rolling hills, a manmade lake, and Brewster’s thirty-room mansion surrounded by a ten-foot-high, three-foot-wide stone wall encompassing three city blocks. Servants’ quarters flanked the two entrances. Except for the house, the structures remained.
In the reading of her dad’s will, Rio discovered her father had given the money to his best friends, Tony and Steve, to buy the land on his behalf, enabling him to keep his privacy. The reluctant tycoon bequeathed each of his children $100 million, and his instructions to invest in gold had paid off—their combined wealth now exceeded $1 billion. They followed their father’s example and donated much of their money. He had often told his children it’s best to stay under the radar, and, like him, they tried to keep a low profile.
An old maple clock with a drawer built into its base chimed the hour. The three-hundred-year-old Swiss timepiece had been a gift to her father, but Rio couldn’t recall the origin. From her workspace cluttered with law journals and family pictures, she picked up a photo of her dad.
“What surprise do you have for us now, Pops?”
Rio took a navy-blue Mont Blanc pen from the holder and wrote herself a note to call Sergio with her arrival time in Salerno. She had not spoken with her brother since she’d returned from Washington, figuring he was still angry about her outburst at the hearing. She dialed his number.
“Hello.”
“Morning, Colonel. I hope I didn’t interrupt your morning workout?”
“No. Finished about an hour ago. What’s going on, little sister? Long time.”
“Well, I figured you didn’t want to talk to me.”
Giacomo ignored the comment.
“Are you ready for this one?” she asked.
“Shoot.”
“Sergio called. He received a letter from Dad.”
“Are you shittin’ me?”
“Nope.”
“What did it say?”
“‘To be opened when we arrive in Italy.’”
“Damn. How many notes did he send us? Three?”
“Yes. One, a year after he died, the other two on our thirty-fifth birthdays.”
“How did he do that? I mean, who’s mailing these letters?”
“Dad had secrets and a lot of money. When you’re that wealthy, you can do anything.”
“I guess so. Everything he wrote in the journal happened, but nobody listened.”
“Whatcha gonna do, Giacomo? We did what Dad said. We gave it to the president. It’s not our fault his administration did nothing.”
“What about Waldron? He didn’t do anything either. Maybe we should’ve been mor
e proactive.”
“Too late now. We gotta move forward.”
“Yep. I can tell you, whatever Dad’s message is, I will handle it.”
“Be careful, Giacomo. Mom told me Emily is pregnant. What great news! I’m so excited.”
“Yeah, I’m going to be a dad. You’re going to be an aunt.”
“Me an aunt—God help us.”
They laughed in harmony.
“When’s the due date?”
“January.”
“Boy or girl?”
“Patience, my little sister.”
“Are you and Emily still going to Paris?”
“Yeah, we’re meeting Emily’s father there. She doesn’t want to go.”
“How come?”
“Remember the story Dad told us—how he met her father when she was kidnapped?”
“Yes.”
“Well, she still has nightmares.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Are we set for our trip to Italy?”
“Sure are. I spoke with Tony D; his new Gulfstream G750 will be waiting for me on the sixteenth. We’ll pick you two up in Paris and then head to Salerno. I called Sabatino—the house will be ready.”
“Excellent.”
“How are you getting to Paris?”
“Air France.”
“Still leaving in two days?”
“Three to be exact.”
Rio glanced at the clock on her desk. “I gotta go—have a lunch date.”
“Oh . . . anyone I know?”
“Nope, just business.”
“Well, have fun.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, sis?”
“Yes.”
“Even though I disagreed with how you did it, I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, big brother.”
Chapter 3
Four Days Later
Rio placed her suitcase in the trunk of her car. She got into the electric hybrid with a quick glance in the rearview mirror. As she pushed the start button, the vehicle awoke. It was an unusually cool, zero-humidity August day marked by bright blue skies and green trees. An occasional white birch tree broke up the landscape. She drove out of the estate’s gate and turned left on Cliff Street and then right on Whitney Avenue. She needed to stop at her office to sign checks.
“Hello?” She answered the cell phone using the car’s speaker.
“Hi, Rio.”
“Dean.”
“I’m in town. Would you like to meet for coffee?”
“I’d love to—what a pleasant surprise. Where?”
It would be Rio’s third date with Dean Essex. The second had been at a Japanese restaurant in Washington, DC. For the last couple of weeks, he’d called her every other day. She could feel romance blossoming.
“How about the Omni Hotel?”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You’re so sweet. I’m on my way.”
Rio entered the café. Her outfit was casual—a pair of jeans, a loose-fitting tan satin blouse, and brown shoes. Still beautiful, she enjoyed the complimentary glances she received from passersby when her shoulder-length mahogany hair shone in the morning sun. Rio found Dean in the furthermost corner of the café.
Dean was attractive—not necessarily handsome but not ugly either. Dressed in a dark navy-blue suit, white shirt, and red tie, he was exactly her height. His dirty blond hair had been combed back with styling gel, and he wore tortoiseshell glasses with round lenses. When he spotted Rio, he placed his copy of the New Haven Register on a side chair—its headline read “FFB Threatens Militant Action.”
He rose to meet Rio, and they embraced. He kissed her on the lips. Rio welcomed the softness of his touch.
“Wow—you’re a good kisser.”
“Thank you. I got you a black coffee and a cinnamon scone.”
“I love their scones.”
They sat opposite each other. Legs crossed, Rio leaned forward, her hands wrapped around the green mug. “How’s Washington?”
“Not bad. Hopefully I’ll be working with Tom Maro.”
“Excellent. I’ve spoken with him a couple of times.”
“You’ve talked to him?”
“Yeah, nice man. We discussed policy issues.”
“Interesting.”
“He’ll be a respectable president. Waldron will lose. The people are tired of his lies.”
“I hope you’re correct. I’ll be in the chief of staff’s office.”
“You mean you have the job?”
“Not quite, but after today, I will.”
“Congrats.”
“Thanks. He’ll definitely win.”
She reached for his hand. Rio enjoyed his smile at her advance. “So, why are you here?”
“I wanted to say goodbye.” His eyes darted back and forth as he rubbed his left ear.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You seem preoccupied.”
“No—not when you’re in front of me.”
“Wow, kind of deep in here.” She chuckled.
“No. I . . . I . . .”
“Yes?”
“I care for you, Rio. I enjoy your company.”
“Are you blushing?”
“Boy, you’re tough.”
“I’m sorry—it’s the lawyer in me. My brother says the same thing.”
“Is Giacomo going with you to Italy?”
“No. He and his wife will meet me at the Salerno airport.”
“He’s not traveling with you?”
“No, he’s going commercial. I’m flying on a private jet.”
“Wow.”
“A family friend is going to Positano; he asked if I wanted a ride.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah, sure beats the TSA lines.”
“Out of New Haven?”
“No, Oxford.”
They talked for over an hour. Rio glanced at her cell phone. “Sorry, Dean. I have an eleven o’clock appointment.”
“I understand. My flight to DC departs in ninety minutes. I should leave as well.”
They exited the coffee shop.
“This is mine.” Rio opened her car door.
Dean reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a white envelope and a blue velvet case. “This is for you.” He opened the case. Inside was a gold heart pendant with a small diamond in its center.
“Dean, you shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t want you to forget me while you’re away.”
“How sweet.” Rio took the gold chain in her hands, placing the strand around her neck. She turned, saying, “Can you clasp this for me?”
He fumbled with the locket for a moment. “There you go.” He kissed the nape of her neck.
She touched the charm. “Thank you.”
“Promise me you’ll read this on the airplane.”
“I will. What is it?”
“You can’t tell?”
“A card? I love cards!”
“Maybe.”
“I need to go.”
“Have a safe trip. Call me when you can.”
“I will. I promise. Thank you.”
Dean took her hand. “Rio?”
“Yes.”
He took her other hand. Their eyes met as they embraced and then kissed.
Rio patted him on his lapels as she gazed into his eyes. “I’ll call you from Italy.”
As she drove away, she looked into the side mirror and saw her new boyfriend answer his phone.
Chapter 4
That evening, Rio arrived at the Key Air hangar. She pressed the intercom
button, her identity was verified, and the gate to the ramp lifted. On the tarmac sat Tony’s new Gulfstream G750. The plane was equipped with the latest technology—the first corporate jet to fly faster than the speed of sound. Flight time to Salerno, Italy: four-plus hours. In honor of her father, Tony kept the registration number N7PD on the tail of the plane—Paolo DeLaurentis.
The lineman opened her car door.
“Tommy. How are you today?”
“I’m good, Miss DeLaurentis, and you?”
“Wonderful. How’s Laura?”
“My wife is well. Thanks for asking.”
As Rio boarded the private airplane, she felt the stares of the ground personnel. I still got it. She approached her seat, appreciating the interior—plush and expensive; the cabinetry made from cherry and maple wood. The aircraft sat nineteen, slept nine. Each passenger had their own monitor, loaded with a library of over fifteen hundred movies.
“Hello, Tony.”
Tony’s eyes brightened when his childhood friend’s daughter arrived. “Rio . . . Rio. I’m happy you’re here.”
Tony, now in his sixties, his hair almost gray, had a small paunch. An author, his twentieth novel had been published the previous November. He was unscathed by the world’s economic turmoil because he too had taken Paolo’s advice, and prudent gold investments had made him a wealthy man. A humanitarian, he helped Rio’s causes as well as those stricken with cancer.
Rio settled across from Tony in the oversized tan leather seat. The stairs tucked into the plane, and the jet engines roared to life.
“I understand our route changed.”
“Yes—no, Paris. Giacomo and Emily will meet us in Salerno. They’re in Positano. They had dinner with Arnaud and then left.”
“Damn! They could’ve stayed at my house.”
“I guess it was a quick decision. How long are you staying in Italy?”
“Don’t know yet. Depends on the airplane’s schedule.”
Tony donated the plane to terminally ill patients. The stateroom had been equipped with the required medical equipment for care during passage. His pilots transported the sick to treatment centers throughout the world. In most cases, he paid the hospital bills.
“How old?”
“Fifteen-year-old girl from Iraq, stage 4 lung cancer.”
“Are you taking her to Smilow?” Yale University’s research hospital was ranked first in the country.
The Third Trumpet Page 2
